Beyond the Sand
by Danny vs A Month
Summary: Someone starts a war with Persia, critically wounding one of its three Princes in the act. Meanwhile, trouble is brewing in India, and a certain Prince is sent to help. How are these events connected? What is the goal? And how does the Hourglass fit in? Only ever played Sand of Time and going off of that and the wiki, with a few alterations of my own.
1. Chapter 1

I do not own Prince of Persia or any of the characters.

 **A.N.:** Fair warning, I've only ever played Sands of Time, so I'm going off of only what I learned in that game and the wiki. Bear with me. Also my first Prince of Persia story.

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1

Laughter drifted through the barracks, the soldiers laughing, drinking, flirting with concubines who pretended to be wooed by them. Among them, two of the three princes sat in the center of the room, drinking and playing with the most beautiful concubines and drinking the best wine. They didn't seem to have a care in the world. The youngest of them, however, sat in the darkest corner in the rafters. He sipped at a goblet of wine, but hadn't really even gotten a mouthful in an hour with the goblet. He stared off into space, mind exactly three days and six hours by horseback away. As it had been almost constantly for the last year since the invasion of India.

"Are you hiding away again, Brother?" the younger of the two celebrating princes asked.

"I am," the youngest said. "Don't allow me to distract you from your whores, Brother. They look about ready to do their jobs. You're doing well. I was starting to be afraid you would even strike out with prostitutes."

"Well well," the older of the two smirked. "Is little brother feeling tough? Well, how about you come down here and test your strength Brother?"

"Now why would I do that?" the youngest smirked, looking down at his brother who was swaying on his feet. "Why not come up here and prove your strength Brother?"

The older of the two grinned widely. Hook, line, sinker.

"You asked for it," the prince said, putting his foot on the wall.

The youngest wasn't really sure what happened next, though he suspected his brother had tried to simply walk up the wall the way he could make it look like he could. He chuckled until his eldest brother walked over, staring down at his groaning brother who had successfully landed on a bench and broken it, then up at his youngest brother.

"Brother, come down here," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument.

The youngest prince sighed, dropping to the ground and landing lightly beside his brother.

"Brother," the eldest said. "This is a celebration. Drink. Flirt. Lay with a concubine. It's what they're here for. I can even direct you to one who's from India if you want."

The youngest rolled his eyes. He was beginning to regret ever telling Malik about his real reasons for begging their father to pull back from India without a fight. He hadn't believed him, of course, but he had believed that he was in love with Princess Farah. And since then he had been a good brother and done everything in his power to make his youngest brother forget about the girl he loved.

"Brother, you know that's not going to happen," the youngest said.

"Then at least stop antagonizing your brother," Malik said. "He's drunk too much again."

"When does he not?" the youngest chuckled, tapping their sleeping brother with his foot, the sleeping prince snorting and rolling over. "I'll take Aryan home. Enjoy your party brother."

"Oh, don't go!" a concubine wearing a red sari but with her breasts uncovered pleaded, catching the youngest's arm. "You have yet to have any fun!"

"And I won't be tonight," he said.

"But you never do," the concubine said. "Please. Just for once? I'll make it worth it."

"Ah, you're one of the regulars are you?" the youngest prince snorted. "Then you should know by now that I don't have fun. And it shall not be different tonight."

With that, the youngest lifted his drunken brother from the floor and headed toward the door, then back to their home, dropping his brother into his bed then walked to his own room. He walked to his armor stand, resting a hand on his armor. Black splint mail with accompanying grieves, vambraces, and his two swords. The first he got when his father's army stopped at Azad on the way back from India, the prince trading a large amount of gold in exchange for the scimitar that he had once used to fight sand creatures. He trailed his fingers over the grey hilt and down the blade to the golden inscription near the tip. The other was the same that he had had when he had first assaulted India and found the Dagger of Time. It was a gift from his father.

He sighed, walking to the window and staring out into the night, The city was still celebrating. He smirked. The city had never needed a reason to celebrate. But tonight, it seemed to be even more lively than ever. He could hear the laughter and cheering from his window. His heart ached once again for the one person in the world he could never have. He turned, walking to his bed, changing himself into his bed clothes and got in, pulling the blankets up over himself and closing his eyes. Sleep claimed him quickly only for his dreams to be haunted by sand monsters and high towers and a scream as his world fell away from him. He sat up with a gasp, the scream ringing in his ears stilled, echoes of it overlapping itself.

He set his head in his hands, trying to clear the dream from his mind. Except, the screams remained. His head snapped up. That wasn't the scream from his dream. He sprinted to the window, looking out as soldiers flooded through the open gate of the city wall, flooding the city, the Persian Army only just now arriving to stop the slaughter. In minutes, the prince was dressed in his armor, sprinting through the hallways of the palace, shoving his swords into their sheaths on his back as he ran for his brother's room. He shouldered the door open just as his brother picked up his sword, spinning it in hand and smoothly sheathing it on his own back.

"Let's go," Aryan said.

The two sprinted out of the palace and through the streets toward where the battle was raging. As they made their way there, they shoved their way past throngs of people, shoving them aside and shouting for them to let them pass. Finally, they left the crowd, finding themselves at the battle. It was horrible. Persian soldiers were lying everywhere, soldiers wearing black clothes and turbans with their faces covered and wearing black steel armor fighting them hard. However, the Persian Army was beginning to gain a footing now that the shock and awe of the attack was beginning to wear off and with Malik fighting at the front. Aryan took a contingent of soldiers from near the rear and branched off to a less heavily guarded section of the city and the last prince drew his swords, holding the one from Azad in his right hand and wading into the sea of warriors, blades flashing. His scimitar tore through one soldier, armor and all, before he spun, his shamshir slicing another soldier's throat to the spine. A soldier slashed at the prince and he blocked it with his shamshir and dragged his scimitar up the soldier's front, his blood spraying into the air. He spun, flipping his shamshir around to reverse grip and drove it into another soldier's throat then spun the other way, ripping it back out and knocking a sword aside before decapitating the soldier with his shamshir.

Persian soldiers charged past him, reinforcements having arrived and those already present gaining strength from their prince. The prince charged with them and the soldiers reached a line of enemy soldiers and halted their charge. The prince turned, rapidly ascending the wall of a nearby building and stopping when he reached the roof, looking out toward the gate. They were only a few blocks from them but there could be anywhere from a hundred to two hundred soldiers between them and it and from his new vantage point, the prince could see more soldiers marching toward the city from the horizon.

"Brother!" Malik's voice shouted from below. "Dastan!"

The prince looked down at the sound of his own name. Malik split a soldier's torso wide open then rushed over, looking up at his brother, the group of soldiers he had had moving to help his younger brother's.

"Close the gate!" Malik shouted. "I'll handle things here!"

"Try and get to Aryan!" Dastan shouted. "He's that way and didn't take many troops!"

Malik nodded and Dastan turned, sprinting to the edge of the building and leaping off the edge, crossing the gap between buildings before he landed on the other side as three soldiers leapt up on the far side. One wielded a pair of scimitars, one had a short staff with a sword blade on each end, and the third had a long hair-thin wire whip with jagged metal blades along its length and a spear head on their tip. Dastan growled in frustration as the two with the close ranged weapons charged. The one with the staff slashed upward at Dastan who sidestepped it before the man spun, driving the other end at him. Dastan slashed it aside and then kicked the soldier away as he blocked the other soldier's two swords. He pivoted, swinging his foot around and slamming it into his side before slashing upward with his shamshir. The soldier leaned back, his blade carving a scratch into the soldier's armor. Then, the soldier leapt backward and Dastan ducked as the bladed whip flashed out over his head and swung to the side. He sprinted to the side, darting at the soldier with the whip. The whip swung downward at him from above and he jumped to the side, the whip crashing down where he was. Then, he reached the soldier, slashing only for the soldier with the staff the block his scimitar behind him.

Dastan jumped onto the edge of the building then leapt off of it, flipping forward and landing on the edge of the next. He tilted forward and back for a moment before leaping forward, the whip smashing into the building where he had been, shattering the low wall. Dastan rolled to his feet as the two close range soldiers landed in a roll, getting to their feet at a run toward him. Dastan met their charge, slashing one of the two scimitar upward with his shamshir while he blocked the end of the the other's staff. Both swung their other weapons and he ducked, the two blades flashing over his head before he spun, his scimitar crashing into the scimitar wielding soldier's blade and slashing the other's shin. Pain flared through his shoulder and he staggered forward then turned, seeing the whip's point plying toward him. He ducked under it and rolled to the side as the whip crashed to the ground, the blades sticking up from the ceiling before being ripped free.

Dastan turned, sprinting away from the trio again, leaping to the top of the next roof which was slightly higher and dropped down onto the roof, lying below the low wall. He heard a sharp crack before the staff-wielding soldier landed on the short wall. Dastan instantly flipped, kicking him backward and the soldier tumbled off the building, crashing down in the street below. Dastan took off running again just as the wall exploded and the whip shot out of the dust, slicing a gash across the back of his right. He spun, bringing his scimitar up in time to block the other melee soldier's blades. The time, without his partner, Dastan had the advantage of skill. He shoved the blades away and slashed his shamshir. The soldier blocked it and Dastan flipped over the other blade, driving his scimitar into the soldier's back on the way down, slashing downward, killing him. He ripped the sword out just as the whip wrapped around his left arm, the blades, each roughly two inches wide, burying themselves halfway into his arm in a spiral around his arm from the middle of his upper arm down to his shouted in pain, bringing the scimitar down on the whip and it smashed. He grunted, putting his scimitar away then picked up his fallen sword and took off, running to the edge of the roof and leaping onto it just as another whip smashed it under his feet. He began to fall but jumped, slipping through a window and landing on his good side and rolling to his feet, running to a nearby closet, slipping inside and looking down at his wound.

He grit his teeth and gripped the topmost blade, pulling it out slowly. Pain made his vision flare white before he had it out. He took a couple of seconds before slowly pulling the next one out. He stopped after two as the soldier landed in the building as well, his second whip making a rasping hissing sound as it scrapped along the ground. Dastan slowly picked up his sword, waiting until the soldier had his back turned. Then, he burst out of the closet. The soldier flicked his wrist, the whip swinging around at Dastan. Dastan instinctively held up his sword and the whip wrapped around it before wrenching it out of his hands. He drew his scimitar as he ran, then hurled it, the scimitar spinning through the air before burying itself in the soldier. He sighed, looking down at his injured arm again before shaking his head and grabbing the scimitar, wrenching it free and putting it away then grabbing his shamshir and running through the building, taking a staircase to the street and looking around. The gate was nearby but there were a dozen soldiers in his way. They all turned toward him, most drawing swords but one having gauntlets with three jagged dagger-like claws extended from it and another had throwing knives at the ready.

Before any of the soldiers could do anything, Dastan heard the telltale hissing of arrows and dropped low, throwing himself backward into the building just as arrows began to rain down in the street. The enemy soldiers shouted in pain as they were felled, until finally the arrows stopped. Dastan grit his teeth rolling onto his good side then pushing himself up, grateful that he hadn't landed on his injured arm.

"Dastan!" Malik's voice shouted worriedly.

Dastan stepped out and Malik sighed in relief.

"Thank the Gods Dastan," Malik sighed. "I was so worried when I saw you step out that...Gods...what happened?"

"Long story," Dastan said. "Where's Aryan?"

"Here," Aryan said, jogging over with several small cuts and scrapes, Persian Soldiers following.

"Alright," Dastan said, looking through the gate as the enemy reinforcements charged toward the gate. "I'll get the gate. Hold the enemy here."

His brothers nodded and Dastan sprinted toward the gate house, skidding to a stop as the soldier with the knives stepped out, hurling two. Dastan dropped, feeling one stick into his left shoulder as he did as the other whizzed over his head. He bounced up from the ground, sprinting forward again as the one with the claws stepped out. The knife thrower retreated behind his ally and Dastan slashed, the claws blocking it. Dastan heard Malik's cry of rage behind him before ducking, Malik's much larger sword smashing through the claws and bifurcating the soldier. Dastan grabbed the soldier's upper half and held him in the way as several knives stuck into him then dropped him, grabbing a knife and spinning, hurling it into its owner's face. Then, he grabbed his sword from the ground and sprinted into the guardhouse. A thunderous roar began to rise outside before dying down, instantly replaced with the sounds of battle as Dastan sprinted up the stairs tot he gate controls. As he got there, he found one last soldier waiting, this one holding a weapon consisting of a scimitar blade sticking out of the back of the blade at the base in his left hand so that the blade ran up behind his arm, and a shamshir in his other hand. The shamshir was thin and mostly black with a gilded cross guard and pommel and gilded thorned vines reaching up the sides of the blade. The soldier pointed the shamshir at Dastan then stepped forward, slashing at him rapidly. Dastan deflected what strikes he cloud, dodging the rest. They fought around and around the room, Dastan knowing he needed to close the gate soon. Finally, he found himself beside the rope to the counterweight and ducked under a slash, allowing the soldier to sever it for him. The moment the rope was free of the weight, the gate crashed down, several strangled cries of pain ringing out as unfortunate souls were caught underneath.

The soldier slashed at Dastan again and Dastan slashed his sword aside then slammed his foot into the side of the soldier's knee, breaking it before stepping around behind the man and gritting his teeth, swinging his injured arm, slamming one of the metal blades in his arm into the side of the soldier's neck, blood spraying out. He pulled the soldier back off and grunted in pain as the blades shifted. Then, he let the soldier fall and sat hard against the wall. The battle outside the gatehouse raged as Dastan carefully pulled the blades out of his arm. It was torturously slow, and the most painful thing he had ever done. Then, finally, it was done and he released a pent up gasp of breath, breathing hard. He picked up his sword, using it to stand and stumbling to the window just as Malik surged out of the line of his troops, carving his way through the last of the troops inside the walls, the archers outside firing down on the retreating force outside. They had won. But he instinctively knew they had payed a great price for victory. He had never seen Malik so mad.

He made his way downstairs, stepping outside just as Malik finished, turning to him. Malik stared at him for a moment before dropping his sword, eyes wide. Dastan's vision suddenly blurred and he felt himself sway. Then, he pitched forward, landing hard against Malik, hearing him shouting but not comprehending his words. After several minutes, Dastan realized his eyes were closed and blinked them open, finding himself lying on the ground, a healer bandaging his arm. He looked around, seeing Malik kneeling beside him, worry aging him a decade.

"We were victorious Brother?" Dastan asked.

"Yes Brother," Malik nodded, smiling. "We were victorious."

"Where is Aryan?" Dastan asked.

"Aryan was wounded badly by the one with the knives," Malik said. "He was taken to the healers."

Dastan nodded then noticed Malik giving him a strange look.

"What's the look for?" Dastan asked.

"Where did you get this medallion?" Malik asked, lifting a gold medallion with a white jewel in the center from Dastan's chest.

Dastan realized his armor had been removed and stared at the necklace, eyes softening before he raised a hand to it, taking it from Malik and staring at it before resting his hand on his chest, thumb running lightly over the face of it.

"It was a gift," Dastan said.

Malik nodded slowly as the healer finished. Malik helped Dastan sit up and Dastan looked toward the gate, seeing three enemy soldiers pinned beneath the gate.

"Who were they?" Dastan asked.

"We don't know," Malik said. "We'll find out. And then the full might of Persia will be brought to bear on them. Come. We should go to our brother."

"They knew father was away," Dastan said. "They had to have. That's why they attacked now."

"I agree," Malik said.

They made their way to the healers, sitting beside Aryan's bed. He was pale with a light sheen of sweat, with bandages covering his chest. He looked up at them as they arrived and smiled.

"Dastan," Aryan said. "Good. You're safe. I'm glad. I'm sorry I was not of more use to you, Brother. I'm sorry that I always start fights with you and get drunk."

"That's enough Aryan," Dastan said. "You need rest. There's nothing to forgive."

Aryan smiled, his eyes sliding closed and Dastan sighed.

"You must rest as well," Malik said. "Lie down Brother. It would do you no good to waste what little energy you have left. After all, you leave to see your princess in the morning."

Dastan blinked, staring at Malik who grinned.

"What did you just say?" Dastan asked.

"We received word of trouble brewing on the northern border of India," Malik said. "You are being sent there to offer India your aid in resolving the situation with a contingent of soldiers as an offer of peace. We neglected to inform you of this, at my request, because I believed it would be better as a surprise."

Dastan stared at him before grinning. He allowed Malik to guide him to the bed and lay down on his good shoulder, closing his eyes. Sleep claimed him, and the scream rang out in his mind again. This time, however, the dream melted away as soon as Farah hit the ground, and was replaced by a new one. He had killed the vizier and told her his story. He had kissed her and reversed time, and now he simply needed to leave.

"What do I call you?" Farah asked.

"Just call me...Kakolookiya," he grinned before dropping out of her sight.

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Dastan opened his eyes, light bleeding through the curtains around his bed. He didn't remember going to his bed. He looked down at his injured arm and saw fresh bandages. He pulled the covers back and got up, changing himself into fresh clothes, a simple shirt and pants, then left, heading to the Strategy Room and found Malik and his advisors standing around a map. They looked up as he entered and Malik smiled.

"Good afternoon Brother," Malik said. "How did you sleep?"

"I overslept?" Dastan asked, eyes wide and panicked. "What about India?"

"Don't worry," Malik smiled. "We delayed the trip a day. And we doubled the number of troops."

"Why?" Dastan asked.

"Because we found out who attacked us," Malik said darkly. "Hassansins."

"But there were an army!" Dastan protested, Malik raising his hand.

"We have already discussed this," Malik said. "The Hassansins have raised an army, going against their own laws to remain only seven. We believe they got their forces from Scythia. We will deal with them. You deal with India. Get yourself ready to travel."

Dastan nodded and returned to his room, calling in several servants to help him. Once prepared, he stood in his window, staring in the direction of India, fingertips resting against the medallion.

"You are excited, aren't you?" Malik asked, closing the door.

"It's been a year," Dastan said. "She probably doesn't remember me at all."

"Oh yes," Malik said. "A handsome young prince arrives in the night, kills the traitorous vizier who wielded magic to attempt to kill her, told her a fantastical tale of the end of the world and of falling in love with her, then turning back time, and then leaves, taking his would-be invading armies with him. Very forgettable."

Dastan grinned and Malik laughed. Then, they both stared out the window.

"What should I say if I see her?" Dastan asked.

"Say nothing," Malik said. "Act as though you have never met her. If she remembers you, and wishes to speak with you, she will do so."

Dastan nodded slowly, fingertips again on the medallion. Malik sighed, watching as the sun set.

"We have successfully wasted the day," Malik said. "Rest. Tomorrow you leave for India."

Dastan shook his head slowly.

"I can't sleep," Dastan said. "I've been having nightmares going on a week now. The same as when I got back."

"I see," Malik said. "Try to rest. If not for your sake than the sake of appearances when you reach India."

Dastan sighed but nodded and lay down.

"Wake me in the morning, will you?" Dastan asked.

Malik nodded and Dastan lay back, closing his eyes and slowly drifting off.

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	2. Chapter 2

I do not own Prince of Persia or any of the characters.

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2

Farah rolled over, whimpering. In her dreams, she jumped, dodged, and fought, slaughtering sand monsters. Then, the inevitable happened. She fell. Farah woke with a scream, her servant, Mia, catching her shoulder.

"It is alright, Memsaab," Mia said. "It was only a dream."

Farah stared at her before nodding, allowing Mia to gently lay her back down.

"Rest, Memsaab, I will be right here," Mia said.

"Thank you Mia," Farah smiled, allowing her eyes to slip closed again.

Her dream began instantly. The vizier attacking her and the strange warrior who claimed to be a prince. The prince defeated him. Told her his tale. Then, he kissed her. As she watched, she berated him for it, and then, time rewound, and instead, he simply said goodbye, leaving her with only her own mother's secret word as a name.

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Dastan remained silent as he rode through the streets of the city on his horse. The people of the city watched him with an odd mix of fear and hope. He glanced at his bandaged arm, hanging limply at his side. Then, he looked up as the Maharaja's palace loomed over him, the Maharaja himself waiting to greet him along with his new vizier and a host of servants. Dastan pulled on the reins, carefully climbing to the ground, then turning and walking toward the Maharaja, bowing before him in greeting.

"Welcome, Prince of Persia," the Maharaja greeted. "I am truly grateful for your emperor's quick reply to our request. And I am very glad that he sent so many soldiers. Though, I am worried that he sent you when you are so obviously wounded."

"Unfortunately, my father is away, dealing with affairs," Dastan said. "My elder brother Malik was left in charge. Because of that, my brother could not come himself. Out of the remaining two of us, I was the least injured. Therefore I was sent. There is also another reason, but it doesn't matter at the moment. We can speak of that later."

"Very well," the Maharaja nodded. "My servants will show you to your room and will lead you to your chambers."

Dastan bowed again then followed the Maharaja's servants through the palace to the chambers that had been prepared for him. Once there, he had his own servants help change him out of his armor and into a plain shirt and pants. As soon as he was changed, there was a knock on the door. Dastan nodded to a servant and they opened the door, Dastan staring at the woman who bowed in greeting.

"Please forgive my intrusion," she said. "May we talk?"

Dastan nodded and the servants filed out obediently, closing the doors behind them.

"It is an honor to be blessed with your company, Princess Farah," Dastan bowed. "How may I be of service?"

"Your name is Dastan," Farah more said than asked, Dastan allowing a smirk to grow on his face. "Do you..."

"I could never forget," Dastan said, Farah staring at him as he sighed. "It has plagued my dreams for a year now. Though the last weak has been the hardest."

"The last week, I have been having nightmares," Farah said. "Dreams of sand creatures, and the traitor...and you."

Dastan's mouth twitched but he restrained the smile. It faded as he recalled his own dreams, his own memories. He hadn't told her that she died when he told her the story. He couldn't. He would have choked up.

"I suppose the question remains then," Dastan said. "Why?"

"How did you know the word?" Farah asked.

"You know," Dastan said.

"No," Farah said. "Tell me the truth. How did you know?"

"I've already told you," Dastan sighed, resting his head in his hand. "I believe your father is waiting for me. If you don't have another reason to be here, I'd prefer to be on my way. I do have a war to settle."

"Alright" Farah sighed before freezing upon seeing the medallion around his neck.

Her hand shot to her own neck and her mouth fell open.

"How did you get that?" Farah demanded.

Dastan's fingers rose to his neck and he pulled it off, holding it out to her.

"I told you before, you gave it to me," Dastan said. "But it belongs to you. I'm sorry. I should have returned it to you that night, but I didn't even realize I had it until after we had parted ways."

Farah nodded slowly and accepted the medallion, pulling it back on. Farah turned, walking past her and out of the room. He headed to the strategy room, being allowed in instantly and finding the Maharaja and his counselors and advisors standing around a map with several small wooden objects indicating their forces.

"Ah, Prince Dastan," the Maharaja greeted. "Welcome. Please, come here. Allow us to explain our situation."

Dastan nodded, walking over to the table and looking down at it. The pieces identifying India's forces were amassed along the northern border, and the skeleton crew that remained everywhere else to give the impression of being ready for an attack from anywhere left India completely vulnerable to anyone. Dastan could instantly see the true level of desperation India had to have felt in order to not only request the aid of a known enemy nation, but to also allow them to see just how weakened they had become.

"You're taking an awfully large risk in showing me this map," Dastan noted. "From the look of it, the small force I brought with me could take over. That's very dangerous."

"Then maybe you'll understand the gravity of our situation," the Maharaja said. "We're very desperate."

"I can see that," Dastan nodded. "Tell me who's been attacking you."

"We don't know," the Maharaja said. "They are vile creatures. And they cannot be killed. We had tried everything we could think of, but they continue to fight. We burned them, cut them, stabbed them, even hit them with a catapult. Still they continue."

"Then how have they not taken over yet?" Dastan asked.

"They only attack at night," the Maharaja said. "Our forces are just barely able to hold them at night, until they retreat when the sun rises."

"I see," Dastan nodded. "I don't suppose you know what they look like?"

"Not accurately, no," Maharaja said. "The best description we've gotten was a demon in human form with golden light shining through any wounds they bear before the wounds heal."

Dastan blinked in surprise. That description sounded awfully familiar, but he couldn't possibly actually mean the sand creatures. The Sands of Time hadn't been unleashed.

"Lord Maharaja," Dastan said. "Who advised you to seek our help?"

"My daughter," the Maharaja said. "Princess Farah."

Dastan nodded slowly, staring at the map.

"My forces and I will go to your northern border," Dastan said. "We'll keep a small amount of your own forces as advisers while we fight, but the rest need to return to your other borders. If you are invaded and overtaken while we're fighting, this battle will be pointless."

The Maharaja nodded.

"We'll leave in the morning," Dastan said. "For now, my troops need to rest."

"We shall prepare a feast," the Maharaja said. "And we shall have your soldiers delivered whatever they need."

"With respect, Lord Maharaja, I'd like to have my men present at the feast," Dastan said. "It greatly boosts morale for a leader to feast with his soldiers, and it's a bit of a tradition for my family."

"As you wish," the Maharaja nodded. "You are here to save us. The least we can do is accommodate you."

Dastan nodded then looked down at his injured arm.

"The feast will be prepared shortly," the Maharaja said. "Shall I send a servant to your chambers to fetch you?"

"Yes," Dastan nodded, turning and walking back out of the room and then back to his chambers.

When he arrived, they were empty, so he removed his shirt, unwrapping his arm.

"Prince Dastan," one of his servants said. "Shall I fetch one of their healers?"

"Yes," Dastan nodded. "Thank you."

The servant bowed and left the room and Dastan carefully rewrapped his arm for the time being. The, he walked to the window, leaning on the window sill and staring out of it at the city. It was quiet. Unsettlingly so. He stared down into the street. Even after a year, he could still picture Persian soldiers flooding through the streets, slaughtering the city's forces, himself at the head.

"Prince Dastan," the servant said as he returned.

Dastan turned as Farah walked in with the healer. She stared at him for a moment before nodding to the healer who walked over to him, bowing in greeting then holding out a small vile.

"Drink this, Prince," Farah said. "It has magical properties and will heal your arm."

"Water?" Dastan asked.

"Yes," Farah said.

Dastan sighed, shrugging and drinking the contents of the vile before staggering backward, groaning and clutching at his arm. His servants reacted instantly, drawing daggers and grabbing both Farah and the healer, restraining them and moving to stab them.

"Stop!" Dastan ordered, struggling to his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain as his entire arm felt like it was on fire.

The servants watched him as he stood and leaned on the wall.

"Leave them alone!" Dastan growled. "Get out!"

The servants hesitated, then bowed and concealed their knives again, hurrying out of the room. Dastan carefully pulled the bandages off of his arm, the wounds glowing a light blue, very slowly sealing themselves.

"You should have warned me it would hurt," Dastan growled.

"I'm sorry," Farah said. "Healer, leave the room, and tell no one of this."

The healer bowed and left. Dastan waited for the healer to leave. As soon as the door was closed, he opened his mouth to speak but a strangled cry of pain escaped instead before his throat sealed around it, cutting it short as his eyes bulged and the light in his arm intensified, Dastan collapsing into Farah's arms. Farah lowered him to the ground, cradling his head in her lap and gently running her hand over his hair. Dastan swam in and out of awareness, the only constant being the agony he felt, his body twitching and spasming every couple of seconds, the pain in his arm going from unbearable to unimaginable. Finally, the pain began to fade, Dastan slowly beginning to slip unconscious.

"You have to wake up, Prince," Farah's voice called. "If you sleep you will not awaken. Please, come back to me."

Dastan felt the comforting embrace of sleep beginning to wrap around him. He was so comfortable. He felt like he could sleep for a millennium. His limbs felt like they were a thousand pounds. And his arm had finally stopped hurting.

"Please come back to me," Farah's voice repeated, sounding further away.

Dastan sighed, feeling his body starting to go numb. He was so tired, and so comfortable. But he had a job to do, right? He thought he did.

"Back...me," Farah's voice said, barely a whisper.

Dastan tried to open his eyes but they refused to respond. He tried harder. His body refused to respond. It was so very heavy. And it was almost completely numb. He tried to focus on his senses. Trying to find something to hold onto.

"...can't leave," Farah was saying.

He focused on her voice, clinging to that tiny sliver of consciousness. As he did, he tried to lift his hand, wiggle his foot, turn his head toward her, even open a single eye. Finally, he felt his numbness fading. He felt his eyes twitch.

"Come on Prince," Farah was saying, the sound of her voice drawing him further to awareness. "Open your eyes."

Dastan struggled to move his entire body. His fingers slowly curled, squeezing something weakly. He felt the thing squeeze back and realized it was Farah's hand. He groaned, his eyes finally responding and fluttering open, Farah smiling down at him, tears slowly running down her cheeks.

"No tears," Dastan managed to choke out, body finally starting to respond, allowing him to reach up and wipe her tears away.

She smiled, catching his hand, her thumb brushing over his fingers lightly. Dastan lay there for several more minutes, allowing his body to return to functionality. Finally it was working again and he gave Farah's hand a light squeeze, sitting up. She supported him in case he wasn't fully functional again, and Dastan looked down at his arm. The wound had been reduced to a jagged white scar wrapping around his arm and he had a feeling the other wounds were also nothing more than scars now.

"I'm sorry," Farah said. "I wanted to warn you, but if I had told you, would you still have accepted it?"

"Probably not," Dastan admitted. "Princess, the things attacking your country, what are they? And why did you advise your father to get our help?"

"I advised him to seek Persian help because I was hoping you would be the one to come," Farah said. "As for the monsters, I don't know. But I know I've had dreams about them. Nightmares."

"What do you mean?" Dastan asked.

Just then there was a knock on the door.

"Prince Dastan," one of Dastan's servants called through the door. "The Maharaja's servants are here to lead you to the feast. The men have been gathered."

"Men?" Farah asked. "You're feasting with your troops?"

"Always," Dastan said. "I bleed with them so I'm going to feast with them. "

Farah nodded and smiled before helping him to his feet. She stepped back, allowing him to stand on his own and walked toward the door. Dastan followed and Farah opened the door. Dastan's servants stared at him in awe, seeing his now healed arm, and Dastan looked to the Maharaja's servant, a young woman with short black hair and unusually nice clothing for a servant, who bowed.

"Your highness," the servant greeted. "Memsaab. I am sorry for my intrusion."

"It's fine," Dastan said. "She was just making sure my wounds were tended to."

He subconsciously reached over to his arm, fingers running over the scar.

"Hello Mia," Farah smiled. "Prince Dastan, this is my right hand servant. She will lead you to the feast."

"Very well," Dastan nodded. "Will you be there?"

"After I freshen up," Farah said.

Dastan nodded and followed Mia away from his chambers in silence. Once they were no longer around anyone else, Dastan looked over at her.

"You're very well dressed for a servant," Dastan said, Mia glancing at him.

"Memsaab wished for me to be presentable for our guests, for you," Mia said.

"I see," Dastan nodded. "She considers you a friend, then."

Mia glanced at him, eyes wide.

"I thought so," Dastan nodded. "Relax. I'm not going to say anything."

Mia nodded, sighing quietly.

"Are you planning to stay at the feast?" Dastan asked.

"Yes Your Highness," Mia said.

"Don't call me that," Dastan said. "Prince is fine. And if you're going to stay, stay within arm's reach of me."

"Why?" Mia asked, confused.

"Trust me," Dastan said. "You don't want to be snatched up by the men. And being a servant, even a servant of a foreign land, they will definitely try and be offended if you refuse. And you don't want to offend a Persian Soldier who's drunk too much."

"Oh," Mia said. "Then I suppose I will stay near you after all."

Dastan nodded as they reached the feast hall and stepped inside, finding it already filled with drunk Persians and concubines. The Maharaja was on the far end looking to be trying to ignore the men while speaking and feasting with his advisors. In the middle of the room, untouched by the Persians due to the little restraint they always retained while drunk, a handful of dancers twirled for the occupants' entertainment, though they went mostly unnoticed. Dastan began to make his way toward the Maharaja, Mia following close behind him. For several seconds it was fine. They wound their way through the soldiers and concubines safely. Then, Dastan heard Mia shout in surprise and spun, finding her being held down by a half dozen soldiers.

"Hello beautiful," the soldier said. "Where've they been hiding you?"

"You'll drink with us tonight beautiful," another grinned, already pulling at her clothes.

Mia looked to Dastan, eyes wide with fear and Dastan stepped forward, grabbing the one pulling at her clothes roughly by the shoulder, dragging him off and throwing him aside.

"Hands off!" He growled, the soldiers instantly releasing her and backing away, allowing Dastan to help her up. "Se's off limits."

"But she's a servant!" one exceptionally stupid or daring soldier pointed out.

Dastan stared at him for a moment before punching him, sitting him down hard.

"And I am your prince," Dastan said. "I am well aware of the three of our statuses. You seem to have forgotten what status you yourself hold. I said that she is with me. You would do well to remember who it is you serve soldier."

The soldier paled and instantly knelt, placing his forehead to the ground.

"My humblest apologies Prince Dastan," the soldier said. "Please forgive me. I have drunk too much."

"I know," Dastan said. "You always do. You shall not drink again tonight. Do not let this happen again."

"Yes Prince," the soldier said. "Thank you Prince."

Dastan took Mia's hand, turning and walking away from the soldiers, the rest parting for them, allowing them to reach the Maharaja's side without further incident.

"Welcome, Prince Dastan," the Maharaja greeted. "Your men are...quite interesting to watch drink."

"They're drunken pigs who often need their asses kicked," Dastan said. "I know that. When I said I wished to feast with the soldiers, I expected it to be in the barracks."

"Nonsense," the Maharaja said. "We've hosted worse than this before. Besides, given the enemies that will be attacking them soon, this is a fitting send off for most of them."

"I see," Dastan nodded. "Then I thank you. I had one of my servants warn them not to make a mess, so the cleanup should be minimal."

"Thank you," the Maharaja said. "I see you've taken a liking to my daughter's servant. That's good. Servant, you will do as he says and you will show him a good time."

"Yes, Majesty," Mia said.

Dastan bowed then led Mia away from them to a corner of the room. On the way, he picked up three goblets of wine. Then, he sat in the corner, handing Mia one of the goblets.

"You're going to have to sit in my lap to play along," Dastan said. "Not all of the soldiers retain enough of their wits to stay away if they think I'm just protecting you from them."

Mia nodded, sitting sideways in his lap and sipping from her goblet, Dastan doing the same, mind drifting as it usually did.

"What is it that is so effective at capturing a prince's mind as to keep him enjoying his own feast?" Mia asked after a few minutes.

"Dreams," Dastan said. "Nightmares usually."

Mia raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?" Mia asked. "Of what?"

"Loss," Dastan said. "Death. Someone important to me."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Mia asked.

"No," Dastan said before smiling. "Besides, we're supposed to be feasting."

Mia smiled and waved a servant over, the servant giving Mia a questioning smile as she arrived.

"The Prince would like you to fetch us some food," Mia said.

The servant bowed, grinning at Mia one last time before hurrying off to get the food.

"This might start trouble for you," Dastan said.

"It'll be alright," Mia said. "I'll explain when they ask."

Dastan nodded just as the door opened and Farah stepped in. Dastan felt his breath catch in his throat, Mia grinning knowingly. Farah was wearing a red sari with gold threaded into it and gold and silver mixed along the edges. Dastan realized the only problem instantly. None of the soldiers knew who she was. Dastan stood, instantly as the soldiers began to take notice of Farah. He pulled Mia quickly through the room to the Maharaja, telling her to stay put, then began to move through the soldiers again, the soldiers beginning to close in on Farah.

"Well hello there miss," one of the soldiers, a man who was swaying dangerously grinned lopsidedly, staring at Farah's figure. "Wanna come see what a real man can do?"

"Absolutely," Farah said. "Can you direct me to one?"

Dastan grinned as he neared them. She had guts. Several soldiers laughed, another shoving the first aside.

"Look no further Beautiful," the soldier said, puffing out his heavily muscled chest. "I have arrived."

"Not interested," Farah said.

"I don't recall asking," the soldier said, grabbing her arm. Big mistake. She grabbed his thumb, twisting his arm outward and forcing him to his knees.

"You will not touch me," Farah growled.

She shoved him away and another solider grabbed her roughly by the upper arm.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" He snarled.

Dastan grabbed his wrist, squeezing and making him release Farah, shouting in pain and struggling to pull his hand away, Dastan releasing it after a moment, allowing him to fall onto his rear.

"She's Princess Farah of India," Dastan snarled. "And she already warned you that you are not allowed to touch her."

The hall was silent, the soldiers sputtering, trying to think of an apology fitting their actions.

"Servants," Dastan said. "Take the wine from the room. They've had enough. Men, get out. Go to bed and sleep it off. You'll need to be able to fight tomorrow."

The men instantly began to clear out, taking their concubines with them. The three that had spoken to Farah all but vanished. Dastan sighed, guiding Farah back to the corner, Mia drifting over as well.

"Hello Mia," Farah smiled. "You are free to leave."

"Actually she's kind of stuck babysitting me," Dastan said. "Maharaja's orders."

"Oh, it's not babysitting," Mia said. "Prince Dastan wished for me to stay by his side so as to keep the soldiers away from me."

"Oh is that right?" Farah smiled. "You have my thanks, Prince Dastan."

Dastan smiled and ran up the wall, reaching the window about ten feet up and sitting in the large window sill before using his legs to anchor himself and holding his hand down to Farah. Farah reached up to it and Dastan easily lifted her up to him, helping her to balance on the opposite side of the window. Mia stood obediently below them, awaiting instruction.

"Now then," Dastan said, face serious as he held out Farah's goblet to her, Farah accepting it. "Tell me about these dreams you mentioned. The ones about the creatures attacking your land."

"Do you remember the story you told me of you releasing the Sands of Time?" Farah asked.

"I do," Dastan nodded.

"Your description was the same as the creatures from my dream," Farah said. "Creatures that looked like people made of sand and glowing with an unearthly light. They've haunted my dreams for some time, recently. But, there have been other dreams as well."

"What about?" Dastan asked.

"I have dreamt about the vizier several times," Farah said. "As well as about...you."

She blushed slightly and Dastan raised an eyebrow.

"What about me?" Dastan asked.

"About you fighting the creatures," Farah said. "Saving my life. Nearly dying. I've dreamt about you telling me your story. But...there was one occasion where it was different."

"What do you mean?" Dastan asked.

"There was one occasion where...before you left, before you told me the word you couldn't possibly have known, you kissed me, then used the dagger to turn back time."

"Is that right?" Dastan asked, allowing a grin to form on his lips. "That's very interesting. And have you had any other dreams about kissing me?"

"Oh don't flatter yourself," Farah snorted, rolling her eyes. "It was only the one time."

"I see," Dastan nodded. "The last couple of weeks I've been having similar dreams. I've been reliving what happened in my dreams."

"So you do believe it happened," Farah said. "You actually do believe you released the Sands of Time?"

"And you don't," Dastan said taking a drink from his own goblet. "And I'm not going to have that discussion with you again."

"Why am I having the dreams?" Farah asked.

"I don't know," Dastan said. "But if I'm going to stop the creatures, I'm going to need the dagger."

"I can't give you that," Farah said. "You'll have to fight them without it."

"I can't fight them without it," Dastan said. "They're immortal."

"You defeated them before, according to your story," Farah said. "How?"

"Aside from the dagger?" Dastan asked. "An enchanted sword in Azad that I can't get."

"I see," Farah nodded. "Then I suppose we'll have to enchant your swords for you."

"How?" Dastan blinked.

"The same way we healed you," Farah said. "Your swords need to be dipped in the Well."

"What well?" Dastan asked.

"You mentioned it in your story," Farah said. "The glowing well? The only thing that could have been was the Well. Though I don't believe your story, I do believe you have knowledge about a lot of our greatest secrets."

"Alright," Dastan sighed. "Which way to the fountain?"

"Mia can show you the way," Farah said.

"Alright," Dastan said.

"And Prince Dastan," Farah said. "I would appreciate it if you could return my servant to me without acting like every other Persian Prince."

"That's not going to be a problem, Princess," Dastan said. "I don't have any interest in forcing a woman to lay with me. And even if I did, my heart already belongs to another."

Dastan dropped to the ground, setting his goblet aside and looking up at Farah who motioned him away. Mia bowed and turned, walking away, having heard their entire conversation, and Dastan followed, first, going to this chambers and retrieving his swords, then following Mia into the catacombs below the city. As they walked, Mia glanced at him.

"You're very quiet," Mia said.

"She hates me," Dastan mumbled, speaking to himself as much as her.

"No she doesn't," Mia said. "She simply doesn't want to accept that your story is true, because parts of it would mean that she turned against her morals."

"What do you mean?" Dastan asked.

"She hates people who use and manipulate each other," Mia said. "She told me of the story you told her. Parts of it, anyway. She has also told me of the dreams she has had, which all seem to match your story identically."

Dastan remained silent for a moment before saying, "What's your point?"

"In your story, she used your feelings for you in order to distract you and make you let your guard down, so that she could take the dagger and seal the Sands of Time," Mia said. "She doesn't want to accept that she could do that. She also doesn't want to accept that such a thing could ever happen, because it is her sacred duty to prevent it. If your story is true, she failed twice."

"I see," Dastan said, not really believing her.

Mia sighed, catching his arm and turning him toward her, glaring at him.

"She doesn't hate you!" Mia snapped. "I've been keeping an eye on her since the dreams started! Every time she dreams about the monsters, about the death, and the fear, she is tired, and stressed out, and is constantly looking over her shoulder as though she expects them to be there. On the other hand, on the nights that she dreams about you, about you saving her from the vizier, or from the monsters, she is practically walking on air all day. When she dreams about her death, about falling and dying, she seems to have aged a thousand years. She wakes up screaming. The other night, she dreamed that you kissed her after saving her from the vizier. For the entire day, she was lost in space. She couldn't focus on anything but the dream, and I don't think I saw her stop smiling once for more than a minute. And the one and only time she dreamed about what she did to you, about her deceit, she was in tears. For hours."

Dastan stared at her for a moment before pulling her hand off of his arm.

"If she was so broken up about what happened, she wouldn't be treating me like I slapped her across the face every time I spoke," Dastan said.

"You did admit to ransacking her city, taking her hostage, ending the world, then throwing away your chance to end it because you didn't trust her," Mia said.

Dastan remained silent for a moment before looking down at the swords held in his hand.

"We're supposed to be enchanting my swords," Dastan said.

Mia sighed quietly and nodded, turning and continuing to lead him through the catacombs. Finally, they reached an underground forest, the ceiling above open to the night sky. Mia led him through it until they reached a bridge and stepped aside.

"Dip your swords in the waters of the basin and the water will bestow the ability to banish creations of the Sands of Time," Mia said.

"Shouldn't my soldiers get their weapons blessed as well?" Dastan asked.

"The well will only allow those who are worthy to reach it," Mia said. "If your story holds any truth, you have been deemed worthy. If it doesn't, you will simply find yourself back here again."

Dastan nodded, walking forward across the bridge. After a few seconds, he reached the other end, finding the same glowing basin as before. He dipped his weapons into the basin and the blades began to shimmer slightly. He pulled them back out, staring at the blades before turning and walking back across the bridge to Mia. They turned and Mia began to lead him back out. Once out, Dastan returned to his chambers and went to bed.

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	3. Chapter 3

I do not own Prince of Persia or any of the characters.

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3

Dastan stepped out of the palace, finding his men ready and waiting to move. He walked over, climbing onto his horse then glanced back at the palace just as Farah and Mia stepped out. Dastan watched them silently. Farah wasn't dressed like usual. She wore a red top and skirt as she had when Dastan had accidentally released the Sands of Time, but with the addition of a chest plate and shin guards, as well as gauntlets, and an ornamental headpiece like some sort of crown. Her bow was slung across her back with a quiver.

"You are prepared, I trust?" she asked, looking at him after she had climbed onto her own horse.

"You're not coming with me, Princess Farah," Dastan said. "You're staying here where it's safe."

"It is my kingdom that is threatened, so I shall be helping to defend it," Farah said. "It is bad enough that you are sending our forces away from the battle. You will not be keeping me from it as well."

"Princess, I will be keeping you as far from these creatures assaulting your lands as is humanly possible for as long as humanly possible," Dastan said. "Your aid is not required for this battle. And I will not having you needlessly throwing your life away just because you don't trust me. That is an entirely Persian thing to do. You are Indian. You should strive to act as different from myself as night and day."

"I'm not letting you fight them without me present," Farah said again.

"Then your forces there will go without help and will be slaughtered, leaving your nation weakened and with the creatures to sweep across your land and wipe you out," Dastan said. "Is that what you want, Princess?"

"Well, you'd be here to die with us," Farah said.

"Wrong," Dastan said. "Our nation has its own war that it requires our aid with. As soon as I finish saving India, I am going home to make sure my brothers live."

Farah blinked in surprise before looking forward.

"Very well," Farah said. "I shall not accompany you into battle."

"Good," Dastan said.

"I will go on my own," Farah said, spurring her horse forward, leaving the city and heading north, Dastan staring after her with his mouth hanging open, the soldiers doing the same.

"I swear this woman is going to be the end of me," Dastan grumbled, spurring his horse after her, slowly catching up, the soldiers with horses slowly falling behind and the rest falling behind quickly. "Princess! Slow down dammit!"

Farah slowed to a stop, Dastan stopping beside her, sighing and and resting his face in his hand.

"When we get there, you will stay back with the other archers," Dastan said. "Under no circumstance will you engage in close combat, do you understand?"

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," Farah said.

"Do you remember how in your dreams you couldn't kill the creatures, so you stayed back and shot arrows as distractions while I fought them?" Dastan asked. "Do that. I can kill them now, but I will need someone with good aim to cover my back."

"And what if I do engage in close combat?" Farah asked.

"Run and shout for help," Dastan said. "I'll be there as fast as I can."

"Why?" Farah asked. "Why are you so desperate to see me safe?"

"Remember," Dastan said. "Remember and then ask me that question again."

Farah narrowed her eyes at him before nodding slowly. They waited in silence until the rest of Dastan's forces had caught up before beginning to make their way north. They finally arrived as the sun was beginning to dip low over the horizon. Dastan and Farah went to the main encampment, to the officer's tent, and the officers all bowed instantly.

"I'm going to make this quick," Dastan said. "I am taking command of this battle and my own forces will be fighting, you are to pull your forces out and retreat. The Maharaja is waiting for you. However, when you leave, I need the one hundred soldiers you have who have been on the frontline the most."

"Wouldn't, our officers be of greater service?" one asked.

"How long were you fighting on the frontline?" Dastan asked.

"Well, we actually haven't been to the-"

"Exactly my point," Dastan said. "I need your ground troops, the one who have been on the frontline and know how to fight these creatures."

The officers looked around at each other before bowing again and hurrying out of the tent. Dastan turned to Farah.

"Remember the agreement, Farah," Dastan said. "No close combat."

"I'll be fine," Farah said. "Don't worry about me. You're the one about to be wading through a sea of monsters."

Dastan nodded and they stepped outside, finding a group of Indian soldiers waiting outside, with the Persians waiting a slight distance from them.

"Right," Dastan sighed. "You will spread yourselves through my soldiers as advisors. You're going to teach them how to fight these monsters."

"And who will be teaching you?" one of them asked. "If You would like Prince, I could aid you."

"I do not need the help," Dastan said. "But I am grateful for your offer. You will be assigned to guard Princess Farah. If anything gets past my soldiers and goes after her, you will keep it away from her.

"Of course, Prince," the soldier bowed.

"Good," Dastan said. "Spread out. Usual formation. Fill the canyon. Archers above and behind."

The soldiers nodded, filling the canyon ahead where the creatures were reported to come from at night. Dastan stood at the head, Farah at the head of the archers in the bottom of the canyon. Dastan drew his swords, holding them in front of himself, watching the canyon in silence as the sun slipped beneath the horizon. Silence fell over the soldiers as they waited. The wind that had been blowing gently died, the air feeling unnaturally still. Then, a sound rang through the air. One Dastan would never forget. A distorted sort of roar. Dastan jumped as it rang out, eyes widening before glancing back at Farah, seeing the look of shock and fear filling her face rapidly before she stared at him.

Dastan turned back around as several dozen arms burst out of the ground, some bearing weapons but most empty. The hands placed themselves on the ground and the monsters began to pull themselves free of the ground. They were exactly as he remembered, except that their armor was different. They had black turbans, the cloth that would otherwise be across their faces hanging off to the side, dark armor, and a variety of weapons. He recognized a couple. A staff with a scimitar blade on each end, a scimitar with a handle an the base of the back edge, a whip made of a wire running through several jagged metal blades.

"Scythian," Dastan breathed. "Oh God. You, Soldier! Get back to my brothers. Tell them about these creatures and that they are the Scythian soldiers that fall in battle against our army. Take my horse!"

The soldier nodded and turned, running back to camp and climbing onto Dastan's horse, taking off in the direction of Babylon. As he did, the creatures roared and charged. Dastan raised his scimitar then slashed downward, a thousand arrows filling the sky then raining down on the creatures. Some stumbled, but for the most part they failed to slow at all. Dastan groaned, readying himself.

"Don't try to kill them!" Dastan shouted. "Just keep them from getting past!"

The creatures reached them and Dastan stepped forward, knocking a scimitar aside and split the wielder open, the wielder disintegrating instantly. Dastan grinned, beginning to spin and slash his way through the army, moving back and forth in front of them, keeping them from being overwhelmed. It was exhausting, however, and soldiers were still falling. After about ten minutes, Dastan blocked a spear just before the whip wrapped around him, the blades sinking into the flesh of his torso. He shouted in pain before being flung sideways through the trench into a ring in the middle of the creatures. Dastan groaned, standing and holding a hand to his wounds then pulling it away, sighing as he saw the wounds weren't exceptionally dangerous. Just painful. The creature with the whip stepped out and Dastan could swear it recognized him.

"Great," Dastan grunted, looking around, finding his shamshir but not his scimitar. "This guy again."

He picked it up and looked back up at the creature as it flicked its whips, smashing them along the ground off to its sides. The creature swung a whip at him and Dastan ducked under it, sprinting forward as the creature swung its other whip. He rolled under it then dove to the side out of the way of the first. He regained his footing, sprinting forward as the second swung around at him again. He jumped, flipping over it and slashing at the creature on the way down. The creature spun, flicking its wrist, the whip suddenly shrinking, compacting down into a sword blade with both the front and back edge jagged. The creature blocked Dastan's sword then twisted, ripping it from Dastan's grip. The sword spun away and Dastan kicked the creature, making it stagger backward, Dastan following. He jumped, kicking off of the creature's shoulders and flipping, landing in a roll, grabbing his shamshir and spinning, seeing the glint of metal as the second whip flashed toward him.

Arrows rained from the sky, crashing into the whip and slamming it into the ground then pinning it and Dastan sighed in relief as the creature swung the other, simultaneously yanking the first free of the arrows. Dastan flipped over the whip as an arrow buried itself in the creature's shoulder, making it twist, stopping its next attack. Dastan hurled his sword, the weapon spinning through the air before burying itself in the creature, killing it. He sprinted forward, grabbing the weapon as the creatures around him surged forward. He swallowed hard, readying himself. Then, arrows began to rain down around him, making the creatures recoil. He turned, sprinting toward his men, the arrows in front of him stopping as though it were all planned, and he began to slash his way through, moving fast enough that none of the creatures had time to react. Finally, a creature smashed its staff into his chin, knocking him onto his back.

"Prince!" a soldier shouted as a group of them fought toward him.

"Get back!" Dastan ordered, rolling out of the way of the spear's head, grabbing his shamshir and slashing the creature's throat.

Suddenly, all of the creatures exploded into dust and fell away, the soldiers all stopping, looking around, confused. Dastan slowly stood, a soldier hurrying over with his scimitar, Dastan thanking him, turning back toward where the creatures had come from. He looked to the side, seeing a scared Indian soldier.

"Did they ever do this before?" Dastan asked.

"No, Prince," the Indian said. "Never."

Dastan nodded just as a scream rang out above them. They looked up just as something forced a large group of Persian archers over the edge of the cliff on both sides. Dastan swallowed hard before spinning, sprinting through the soldiers toward where Farah was. As he ran, screams began to ring out ahead of him, and then the thunder of charging monsters began behind him.

"We're surrounded!" a soldier shouted.

Dastan shoved through the soldiers, arriving in time to find a creature with a pair of shamshir kill a pair of Persian Soldiers guarding Farah, leaving only her and the Indian, who was already fighting a female creature dressed exactly as Dastan remembered them and wielding a pair of daggers. Farah began to back away from the creature with the shamshir and Dastan sprinted forward. The creature slashed at her and she deflected the blow with her bow. Another slash, also deflected. Then, the creature looped a blade inside of her bow and slashed, yanking it from her grasp and breaking the bowstring. He pulled his other shamshir back and slashed but Dastan stepped into the way, blocking the slash then kicking the creature.

"Dastan!" Farah gasped.

"Stay behind me," Dastan growled, readying himself.

Just as he did, the Indian soldier shouted in surprise and pain and Dastan glanced over, seeing him stagger backward and fall onto his back, clutching at his bleeding chest. The female creature stabbed him through the throat then began forward as well. Farah shifted so that Dastan was between her and both of the creatures, and Dastan spun his swords then stepped forward, slashing at the female, who blocked it and slashed back. He blocked it with his other swords and spun, slashing at the male creature, who blocked it and stabbed at him. He dove to the side, the shamshir stabbing into the female instead. She shrieked in pain and slashed the male, pulling his sword out then staggered toward Dastan again. Dastan stood and sprinted toward the female, rolling under the dagger then standing and slashing her across the chest, killing her. He spun as the male creature charged at Farah. He sprinted forward, acting out of reflex and stepping in the way, the sword tearing through his abdomen before his own impaled the creature, killing it. He fell to his knees, groaning, holding a hand to the deep gash.

"Dastan!" Farah shouted, kneeling beside him and catching him as he collapsed.

"Run," Dastan said, reaching for his fallen swords. "Get out of here."

He grabbed his swords, using them in an effort to stand.

"Stay down," Farah pleaded, hands on his shoulders.

"Get going Farah," Dastan growled. "I won't watch you die again."

Farah's eyes widened and Dastan winced but forced himself to his feet, turning and limping toward the army, only for Farah to catch him around the waist.

"I'm not letting you die either!" Farah said. "I won't!"

Dastan sighed just as the sounds of battle vanished. Dastan's head swung around and he stared at the bulk of his force lying on the ground, dead. He had a couple dozen left, but the monsters were gone. Dastan looked up, eyes widening. Glowing sand was falling toward them.

"Oh not this again," Dastan breathed.

He looked to Farah, smiling as he realized she was wearing her medallions.

"Don't hesitate," Dastan said, holding out his shamshir. "Kill me before I can get up."

"You're not dying!" Farah said, taking the shamshir and stabbing it into the ground and slapping the Dagger of Time into his hand just as the sand reached them.

All around them, their soldiers began to writhe and shout in pain, beginning to mutate. As they did, Farah lifted Dastan off the ground, grabbing his other sword and putting it away for him, before beginning to carry him away. The horses were mutating as well, so Farah ignored them hurrying Dastan away into the desert. Before they could get far, a very large Sand Creature with gold armor, blue pants, and a very very large sword burst out of the ground, roaring and lumbering toward them. On the other side, an equally large one with a massive stone mallet burst out of the ground behind them.

Dastan groaned, pushing off of Farah and handing her his shamshir before drawing the dagger and staggering toward the one with the sword. Farah turned to fight the other. Dastan tipped forward, allowing his weight to force him to run, then sprinted forward, rolling under the sword at the last second, standing and driving the dagger into the creature, the dagger absorbing it instantly. Then, Dastan turned just as the mallet crashed into Farah. Farah screamed in pain, hurtling through the air and crashing to the ground and Dastan hurled the scimitar, falling as he did, the blade skipping off of the mallet head. Dastan groaned, struggling back to his feet as the creature lumbered toward Farah, who lay unconscious in the sand.

"Farah," Dastan breathed. "No!"

He sprinted forward, grabbing his shamshir on the way then leapt onto the monster's back, driving the sword into it, killing it then falling, landing hard beside Farah. He sighed, slowly pushing himself up and looking around. His scimitar had landed about three feet from him so he leaned over, grabbing it, and putting it away before gently picking up Farah, Farah's face contorting in pain as he did. He grunted in effort, limping way from the creatures who were chasing them and slowly gaining. Dastan drew his shamshir just as one of the creatures began to shine then vanished, reappearing in front of Dastan and Farah, slashing. Dastan spun so that his body and sword both were in front of Farah and blocked the slash. The soldier, who had a staff with a single sword blade on one end, recoiled before Dastan slashed his throat, killing him. Two more appeared and Dastan curled his body around Farah, feeling the blades bite into his back. He grit his teeth, turning and slashing both just as a large creature with a sword appeared over them. Dastan again turned to shield Farah but this time heard the clash of metal on metal and no pain. He turned, looking back to see a woman with long black hair and a red dress standing before him, twin swords crossed, blocking the blade. The dress had the bottom reaching to halfway down her calves, slits up the front of her legs to just below her waist leaving a slim strip down the middle, then the top of the dress reaching up the front over her breasts in a pair of thin strips, then connecting behind her neck. She had a few strings to keep the strips on her chest with disconnected sleeves on each arm that had fabric hanging of of her arms, and a gold belt with several disks connected by by gold beads.

"Who..." Dastan trailed off, falling to his knees with Farah against him as the woman shoved the creature's sword upward then slashed it, killing it.

"Drink this!" the woman ordered, throwing a vile to him.

He caught it, seeing it was the same thing that had healed his arm.

"I can't drink this now," Dastan said, breathing harder by the second. "It's the middle of a battlefield."

"Drink it Dastan!" the woman ordered.

He groaned, then pulled the cork out of the vile and drained it. The pain was instant and excruciating. Dastan felt his body beginning to convulse instantly, his senses fleeing. He grit his teeth, forcing his body to respond and picking up his sword, standing unsteadily, seeing the woman fighting against several creatures, with one with a sword lumbering up behind her unnoticed. Dastan lunged, tripping over his own feet but managing to slash the creature across the back, killing him. The woman spun, slashing through the group she was fighting then shot past Dastan, killing a group that had been heading toward Farah. Dastan pushed himself up just as the pain reached its worst. His body contracted every muscle it had at once, dropping him to the ground. The woman grabbed Farah, quickly dragging her over before standing over them protectively.

"Don't you dare die after this, Dastan," the woman snapped. "If you want that woman to live, you had better get up!"

Dastan felt the pain beginning to fade, his senses trying to go with it. He fought the fatigue, forcing his body to lift him up. His legs gave out, dropping him to the ground again before trying again, managing to get to his feet, his entire body numb. A creature charged toward him and he managed to lift his sword only for the shaft of the spear to crash into him, knocking him to the ground and his sword away from him. He groaned looking around. The woman was struggling to fight against the creatures, sporting a few cuts and nicks, but was still doing amazing. Dastan looked to the creature who had knocked him down and saw him standing over Farah, spear raised. He reacted instantly, heat flooding his body with desperation and rage. He grabbed his shamshir, drawing his scimitar and hurled it, removing the creature's leg. Then, he crashed into the creature before it could land, tackling it to the ground and stabbing it in the face. As it disintegrated, he grabbed his scimitar and stood, turning to the rest of the creatures just as the woman slashed her way free and sprinted over, stopping on the opposite side of Farah from him. Dastan turned, facing away from her and readying himself.

"Why are you helping us?" Dastan asked.

"I'll explain later," the woman said, breathing hard.

Creatures began to appear in front of either of them, the pair blocking any slash that was sent their way before killing the creature that had attacked. Dastan blocked a scimitar with his own, shoving it away and slashing the creature with the same sword while his shamshir was fending off a spear. Finally he swung his scimitar over, removing the spear head then decapitating the creature. A creature with a massive hammer appeared but Dastan split the handle of the mallet in half before it could attack then slashed the creature up the front. Then, he spun, stabbing his scimitar into a creature between himself and the woman who had been about to slash her with its sword. She glanced back at him, eyes widening as she looked past him and he spun again, crossing his swords and barely blocking a pair of massive creatures' swords. He grunted, struggling to hold them back and slowly sinking to one knee. He lowered his swords onto his shoulder before forcing himself back to his feet. Then, he stepped forward, falling forward and slashing both before rolling back to his feet and retreating back to Farah's side.

"Too many," Dastan said, staring at the army of creatures now surrounding them.

"We only need to last until dawn," the woman said.

"Do you know how many hours that means?" Dastan growled, ducking under a horizontal swipe from a spear and slashing the owner, then blocking a pair of scimitars from another. He twisted his hands, throwing all four weapons into the air then drew the dagger, stabbing the creature and absorbing him before putting the dagger away and catching his swords. Just as he did, a female appeared, stabbing at him. He barely managed to deflect the stab then removed her head just in time for a spear to erupt from her chest at him. He shouted in surprise, spinning to the side, the spear slicing a gash into his shoulder. He shouted in pain, directing it up to stop it impaling the woman instead then killed the owner.

"They're learning," Dastan said, readying himself again. "We're not going to survive until dawn."

"I've noticed," the woman said, panting for breath and holding a gash in her side.

"Shit," Dastan growled. "Can you carry Farah while we run?"

"Yes," the woman said, lifting Farah off the ground, Farah gasping in pain but not waking up.

"Good," Dastan said. "Follow me."

He sprinted in the direction of Farah's city, tearing his way through the creatures as fast and desperately as he could, the woman following close behind him with Farah. After several minutes, Dastan finally broke free of the army and spun, stepping past the woman and blocking a spear, killing the owner then throwing himself backward away from several swords. He landed in a backward somersault and ended up on his feet, turning and sprinting after the woman and Farah. The woman didn't slow at all, Dastan having to work to catch up, despite the woman being wounded. He had to admire her endurance. Creatures began to appear around Dastan and he killed what he could but avoided most. Suddenly, arrows began to rain down on the creatures, the woman slowing to a stop, falling to her knees and setting Farah down as Dastan knelt beside her, catching her as she collapsed.

"Hey, hang in there," Dastan said. "You still owe me an explanation."

The woman smiled as Dastan ripped the sleeve of his shirt off, pressing it against her side as Indian soldiers began to flood past them, attacking the creatures. The woman took over holding the makeshift bandage on her wound and Dastan turned to Farah, feeling for a pulse.

"She'll survive," the woman said. "And once she regains consciousness, she can drink the well's water and heal."

Dastan nodded as several horses were brought over and the soldiers riding them dropped.

"Those creatures look to be wearing..." an officer trailed off.

"They're mine," Dastan said. "They were mutated by the ones you were fighting. Wipe them out."

The officer nodded and the soldiers charged into battle, a healer rushing over to tend to their wounds. Dastan wrapped his own shoulder, not being overly concerned with it, and the healer put healing ointment on the woman's wound and bandaged it, then looked to Princess Farah, paling.

"She's going to have the same water that healed my arm once she's awake," Dastan said, the healer nodding.

"You must get out of here," the healer said. "We can hold them here until dawn."

"Don't count on it," Dastan said. "They've been growing smarter rapidly. I'm staying."

"As am I," the woman said.

"No," Dastan said. "You've done enough. You go back to the city with Farah. I need you alive to explain, and I need her alive because..."

The woman nodded then held out her hand.

"And no one here can keep us alive as well as you," she said.

Dastan sighed but nodded, gently picking up Farah, cradling her against himself and ignoring the pain written all over her face as he climbed onto the horse, cradling her against his chest protectively, holding the reins in his left hand, which was around her, and his scimitar in his right. The woman that had saved him climbed onto her own horse and the two rode away from the battle.

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	4. Chapter 4

I do not own Prince of Persia or any of the characters. I changed the Dahaka's origins.

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4

Dastan sat in silence, watching Farah's motionless form as she slept. Across from him, the woman that had saved him and Farah watched him. Farah had not been given any of the healing water yet, since there would be no way to ensure she knew to try and stay awake for it, so she was still badly wounded and unconscious.

"She'll be okay," the woman said. "You should rest."

"You should start explaining who you are," Dastan said, right hand still resting on the handle of his shamshir, stroking the pommel lightly. You can start with your name."

"My name is Kaileena," the woman said. "I'm not from anywhere near here. I'm from the Island of Time. It exists outside of time."

"How do you know about the Sands of Time?"

"I _am_ the Sands of Time," Kaileena said. "My death is supposed to be what causes them to be created. However, since they already exist here, I can't stay long without ceasing to exist."

"I see," Dastan nodded. "Then, why are you here?"

"Because of the Vizier," Kaileena said.

"What?" Dastan asked.

"His staff, the Staff of Time, allowed him to collect and store some of the Sands of Time," Kaileena said. "When you reversed time, he had enough to revive himself after you defeated him, then to infect several soldiers. Then, each of those he broke down into more sand, using it to spread the sand and raise an army."

"So, he has more sand creatures than what I fought before?" Dastan asked.

"Many times more," Kaileena nodded. "If he is able to continue to raise his army, it will sweep across the world like a flood."

"How do we stop him?" Dastan asked.

"The Vizier has been changed by the sands," Kaileena said. "He has not become a sand creature, though. He has become something else. Something far more dangerous. In order to stop the army of sand creatures, you must stop the Vizier. The dagger is the only thing that can stop him. Only the dagger. Even a sword blessed in the Well will not harm him. Only the dagger can stop him. If you don't stop him, the entire world will end."

"Okay," Dastan nodded. "Can you help Farah?"

"She'll wake up in one hour," Kaileena said. "Once she's awake, take her to the Well."

"That's not what I meant," Dastan said. "Can you help her remember?"

"I don't need to," Kaileena said. "She will remember on her own. You make her remember."

"How?" Dastan asked.

"By loving her," Kaileena said. "It's already begun. It's only a matter of time before she remembers everything."

Dastan nodded, sighing. He looked back to Farah and sighed. He reached out to her, gently brushing a few stray hairs behind her ear before picking up his Shamshir, resting it across his lap and looking out at the setting sun.

"Where is the Vizier?" Dastan asked.

"Exactly where he wants to be," Kaileena said. "At the head of an army headed to war, where there's an endless sea of soldiers to corrupt and transform into thralls. He heads the Hassassin army that marches against Persia."

"Then my brothers are in danger," Dastan said.

"Your brothers shall be fine," Kaileena said. "Their destinies are not to fall at the Vizier's hands. All three of you each bear a great destiny. Yours is to finally end the threat of the Sands of Time. Your eldest brother's destiny is to be the greatest king Persia ever knew, and to bring peace to the world. Aryan's destiny is-"

She stopped as Farah began coughing violently, face screwing up in pain as she rolled to the side, coughing blood onto the sheets. Dastan took her hand worriedly, glancing to Kaileena, who watched her silently, yet calmly.

"How can you be so calm?" Dastan asked.

"I told you, she will awaken in an hour," Kaileena said. "She will be fine."

Finally, the coughing fit subsided and Farah rolled onto her back again, breathing harder but slowly calming. Dastan watched her worriedly for a while before slowly calming down. Finally, she stirred, eyes creaking open as she looked around, smiling when she saw Dastan.

"We're alive," Farah smiled.

"Yes," Dastan nodded. "I'll send for your healers to bring water from the Well."

Farah nodded and Dastan stood, walking to the door and pulling it open, telling one of the servants outside to fetch a healer. Then, Dastan sat beside Farah again, Farah taking his hand and smiling.

"Did we win?" Farah asked.

Dastan shook his head. "We were forced to retreat. But the border hasn't fallen, as far as we know. Our friend here, Kaileena, also knows of a way to stop the creatures."

Farah nodded and looked to the door as Mia hurried in with a healer, who held a vial of water from the Well. She handed it to Farah, who drank it easily before gritting her teeth against the pain, struggling to not scream. Dastan held her hand in both of his, and after a few moments, Farah fell still, eyes starting to close.

"Stay with us, Farah," Dastan said. "It's not time for a nap."

"But a nap sounds so good," Farah said, words slurred before smiling and forcing herself awake. "Thank you. You're dismissed."

The healer bowed and turned to leave, Mia staying. Dastan smiled, giving Farah's hand a light squeeze before standing with his shamshir, stepping out of Mia's way. Mia instantly sat beside Farah and hugged her, Farah smiling and hugging her back.

"I was so worried," Mia said. "When they brought you back wounded...I was afraid you'd..."

"It's alright Mia," Farah said, pulling back from the hug. "I'm fine."

Mia smiled and nodded, Farah turning to Kaileena.

"Now, who are you?" Farah asked.

"I'm Kaileena," Kaileena said. "The source of the Sands of Time. They are created when I die. I hail from the Island of Time, which exists outside of time, and I'm here to help you and Persia's greatest hero destroy the Sand of Time once and for all."

"How?" Farah asked.

"First, we defeat the Vizier, the same that Dastan once defeated to save your life, who controls the creatures attacking your border," Kaileena said. "Then, we destroy the Dahaka."

"The what?" Dastan asked.

"Dahaka," Kaileena said. "It's a demon, the same demon that placed the curse on me that will one day turn me into the Sands of Time."

"So, if we kill it, the Sands of Time will no longer exist because the curse will end?" Dastan asked.

"That's right," Kaileena nodded. "And at that time, I will be able to venture out into the world once again, rather than being trapped on the Island of Time."

"You don't come from there originally?" Dastan asked.

"No," Kaileena said. "I was stranded there during a storm. I don't really know how. But once there, the Dahaka found me and cursed me for setting foot on the island."

Dastan nodded. "Alright. How do we kill it?"

"The Dahaka can be wounded by any weapon blessed by the Well," Kaileena said. "However, it is also vulnerable to water."

"Then we'll get our weapons blessed and kill it," Farah said. "But first, the Vizier."

Kaileena nodded and stood. "The two of you must rest. Tomorrow morning, we must ride for Babylon."

Dastan and Farah nodded, and Kaileena left the room, Mia following, promising to be just outside if Farah needed her. Dastan turned to leave only for Farah to stand, stepping forward and catching his hand.

"Wait," Farah said. "Tell me something. What did you mean you couldn't watch me die again?"

"When I released the sands of time, before I was able to seal them away again...you fell," Dastan said, staring at the ground. "I tried to pull you up, but you knew that if I kept trying, I'd fall with you, so you let go. You chose to die so that I would live to seal away the Sands of Time."

Farah remained silent for a moment before releasing his hand and sitting down on the bed. "I...did it really...happen? Please. Swear to me that you are telling the truth, or else tell me what really happened."

Dastan turned to her, staring into her eyes. "I swear to you on my life, the lives of my brothers, and the life of every Persian. Every word I told you that day is true."

Farah remained silent before nodding. "You should go and rest. I suspect we'll have a very busy few days ahead of us."

Dastan nodded, turning and walking to the door. He pulled it open, glancing at her one last time before stepping through and pulling the door closed. He walked silently back to his room and pulled his armor off, setting it beside the bed before climbing in and lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He wasn't really sure what to make of Kaileena, or her story. And he wasn't really sure where he stood with Farah. However, as much as he wanted to know, as much as he wanted to tell Farah what she meant to him, part of him knew that he needed to focus on saving his brothers and killing the Vizier. Of course, another part of him was telling him that he wouldn't survive the journey. Kaileena had said that his destiny was to stop the Sands of Time, but she had never claimed that he would survive doing so.

Dastan rolled onto his side, staring out the window and watching the sun set. Soon, the fight between India's forces and the Sand Creatures would begin again for another night, assuming the Sand Creatures didn't simply transform everyone and be done with it. Finally, he climbed out of bed, walking to the window and sitting in it, turning the Dagger of Time over and over in his hand.

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